


His Own Desire

by FebruarySong



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FebruarySong/pseuds/FebruarySong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard hardly has time to provide for himself and his mother, let alone moon after girls. Then a wealthy merchant family moves back into Lake-town, and their beautiful daughter catches his eye and his heart. But meddling parents, his own poverty, and an up and coming political figure all seem to be conspiring against them. Bard/OC, set seventeen years before the events of The Hobbit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Own Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sonsofdurin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonsofdurin/gifts).



_"And your wife, I imagine she's a beauty."_

_"...She was."_

* * *

“You’d best stop moping after that girl,” his mother said, cuffing him around his ears in that gentle way that some mothers have.

He shied away from the contact, embarrassed by the ignominy of a public reprimand in the bustling marketplace. At sixteen, he thought his mother ought to treat him like an adult, but she still liked to ruffle his hair and call him _my little one_. “I’m not moping after her,” he growled as he shifted the deer carcass on his shoulders in a pretense of nonchalance.

“I see your big, dark eyes,” his mother said, not fooled in the least. “I see that sad look in them. What is her name?”

“Astrid,” he replied, and stole one last glance at the golden-haired girl laughing with old Mad Mae, the cobbler’s wife, before his path turned him away from her. “She’s the daughter of the wine merchant that settled on the northwest end last month.”

“Well, perhaps you should speak to her instead of staring across the market,” his mother said with an absolutely straight face, except for the twinkle in her eyes.

Bard stopped dead in his tracks. “I wasn’t staring!”

“My poor boy,” his mother said as she looked over her shoulder at him. “You have as much subtlety as Gyda’s puggies begging for table scraps. Now come along, Master Wemund is expecting us.”

He trudged after her, wondering if he really was so transparent to everyone, or if his mother knew him well enough to see right through him.

The marketplace was a sprawling maze in the center of town, one shop tucked on top of the next, often with living quarters on the second level. The tanner’s shop was on the far edge, since the concoctions and potions he used to cure the hides smelled so foul. Still, the last of the crisp autumn breezes stirred the air and broke up the cloying heaviness as Bard and his mother knocked on the tanner’s door.

“Eydis!” Master Wemund bellowed when he opened the door. “And Bard my lad, you’ve grown at least a hand since last I saw you! Come in, come in.”

Bard had to turn sideways to fit the deer through the doorframe as he followed his mother inside. The shop’s walls were lined with the pelts of a score of creatures, and Bard thought that Master Wemund was beginning to look like a piece of leather, himself.

“Come, my boy, put down your burden on that workboard there,” the old man said. “What a fine little doe! Did you bag it today?”

“This morning,” Bard said, hefting the deer onto the table and rolling the stiffness from his shoulders.

“What do you think, Master Wemund?” Eydis said. She had a pleasant tone that suggested she was simply making conversation, but Bard knew his mother was shrewd under all the geniality.

“It was a clean shot.” The tanner leaned over the carcass, his brown eyes keenly scrutinizing. “Your aim has gotten better, lad.”

“I practice when I can.” Bard bounced up onto his toes and wondered if they would finish in time to pass by the cobbler’s shop again while Astrid was still there. He would _not_ stare – but another stolen glance at her, just to reassure himself that she was real.

“I hardly know where you find the time, what with your apprenticeship to Master Dromund,” Wemund said.

“Every tenth day is a day of rest,” Eydis smiled. “Even boatmakers must take time for themselves.”

“What!” Wemund cried in mock outrage. “Every tenth day? That’s laziness, plain and simple.” He winked at Bard, who didn’t quite know how to respond. “But enough chatting, Eydis, and let’s talk business. Name your price for the doe’s skin.”

“I don’t mean to sell it,” Eydis replied. “I mean for you to make it into a winter coat for my son. I cannot afford to buy any pelts, so Bard has shot one for you. I will pay you for your labour with venison from the carcass.”

Wemund gave her a long, appraising look. “You bring an unusual offer to me, and I should haggle at least a few silver coins from you.”

“You know that I have none,” Eydis replied evenly.

“And you know that one deerskin will not be enough for a coat,” Wemund said.

Eydis grinned. “Good job then that my son shot down a buck, too.”

“What!” Wemund whooped as he clapped Bard on the shoulder. “Two deer in a morning! Have a care, boy, lest you venture too close to the Woodland Realm and bring down the Elvenking’s white stag!”

“Will you take my offer?” Eydis asked, a small smile of pride still at the corners of her lips.

“Well, how can I not?” the tanner said, extending a hand to her to close the deal. “Let’s get your measurements, my lad. Off with your shirt, then.”

Bard grudgingly stripped off his heavy knit sweater, then the lighter linen shirt underneath. Wemund had already produced the knotted cord he used to measure for fit, and his hands were sure and quick as he took first the length of Bard’s arms.

“I thought you might make it too big,” Eydis said. “He’s bound to grow taller still, though he’s already a head above than me. And he’ll grow stronger, too.”

“Of course, of course,” Wemund agreed. “You’ll swim a bit in it first, but give it a year or two and you’ll fill it out.” Just then, there was a light knock at the door. “Ah, give me a moment. That’ll be Astrid.”

“Astrid?” Eydis chirped at the exactly the same moment that Bard made a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat. Wemund, blissfully ignorant, went to the door. Time seemed to slow down for Bard. He watched in rising panic as Wemund reached out, laid a hand on the doorknob, and began to turn it.

And just as the door started to open, Bard dove under the work table.

“Good afternoon, good afternoon!” Wemund’s voice had a tendency to boom, especially in the small shop. Or was that because all of Bard’s senses were heightened? “Come in, little lady, come in!”

All he could see was the hem of her skirt as she stepped lightly over the threshold. “Thank you, Master Wemund. How are you this afternoon?” Her voice sent frissons of energy down Bard’s spine. He berated himself for his foolishness – what had he been thinking, going under the table like that? Shifting position a little, he tried to remember where he had cast off his shirt and wondered if he could get it back on without Astrid noticing.

Meanwhile, Wemund was still talking. “Oh fine, fine, my lass. Allow me to introduce Eydis and her son, young Master Bard – Bard? Why, where’s the lad got to?”

“He stepped out for a moment.” If his mother was amused, it did not show in her tone. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Astrid.” On that, though, he could hear the undercurrent of teasing, and knew she would laugh at him later.

“Stepped out?” Wemund spluttered. “This is the only door!”

“Good afternoon, Mistress Eydis.” The way Astrid tripped a little on the words made it clear that she was uncertain if she should speak, or allow the tanner to investigate Bard’s mysterious disappearance. “I haven’t seen you in the town yet.”

“I sit at my loom most of the day and often forget the time,” Eydis replied pleasantly. For some reason, she had angled herself around the room to stand directly in front of Bard’s hiding place. “But please, don’t let me interrupt your business with Master Wemund.”

Suddenly Bard caught a face full of fabric, and he strangled down a yelp of surprise. Dashing the material away, he realized that his mother had casually tossed his shirt to him behind her back. It has hard to shrug it on while crouched under the low table, but he managed.

“Ah yes, your order is just in the backroom,” Wemund said. “Let me fetch it for you.”

“Master Wemund,” Eydis said, stopping the tanner before he disappeared into his workshop below. “Have you still that beautifully tooled leather armor? It’s so unusual, I’m sure Astrid would be interested in seeing it.”

“Ah yes,” Wemund replied, and Bard could practically see his face lighting up just from the way he said the words. “I was just working on it last week. What do you say, Astrid? Or in all your travels have you already seen a ceremonial set of armor in the sable of Gondor? It came to me some years ago, and I’ve been restoring it ever since.”

“I would like to see it,” Astrid said. “My father’s caravan went to Minas Tirith sometimes, but we always camped outside the gates and I wasn’t allowed to leave the tents.”

“Come, come then! It’s all down in the backroom. It’s a strange thing to find so far east of Gondor…”

Bard could hear their footsteps disappearing down the stairs, Wemund’s heavy and Astrid’s light. As soon as they were safely on the story below, he exploded out from underneath the table – except in his haste he misjudged his own height, and he bashed his head on the edge as he stood.

“Ooooh,” his mother cooed sympathetically, stepping closer to put a hand to his forehead.

“All well, Eydis?” Wemund called up.

“All well,” she replied, then dropped into a whisper with a conspiratorial glow in her eyes. “Ooh, she’s very sweet.”

He winced, but let her brush the hair out of his face. “I was a fool to hide like that.”

“I said you stepped outside,” she said, looking a little wounded that he didn’t think her ruse was clever enough.

“I heard you,” he muttered, “from where I was hiding under the table.”

“My poor boy. If it’s any ease to you, I think she really had no idea you were under there.” She peered up into his eyes with a searching look. “How is your head?”

“It’s fine, Mum,” he replied. This time he brushed her hand away, although he tried to be gentle since she _had_ covered for him earlier.

“So it didn’t knock any sense into you, then,” she said, satisfied. “Neaten your hair before I call Master Wemund and your pretty lady up.”

“She’s not _my_ —” Bard hissed, but his mother shot him an impish grin and turned toward the stairway.

“Wemund, Bard has come back in. I wonder if we might not finish our business?” she called.

“Of course, of course Eydis! Give us a moment!” the tanner’s voice floated back up.

“Neaten your hair, it looks a mess,” Eydis whispered to Bard, then more loudly, “Take your time, Wemund.”

He blindly dragged a hand through his hair as footsteps started up the stairs. The familiar feeling of anxiety crept into Bard’s throat, and he fought the urge to bolt out the door. His mother pretended to be busily examining a bauble hung on the wall, but he knew she was watching him. Why did Astrid make him so nervous!

“Ah, Bard!” Wemund cried when he reentered the room, carrying a small parcel. “You’re the surest shot in the town, _and_ you can pull a disappearing trick! Astrid, allow me to introduce Bard.” She appeared from behind the tanner, and the breath caught in Bard’s chest. This was the closest he had ever stood to her, and he could finally tell that her eyes were blue.

“Oh, I thought, when Master Wemund called you young, why I thought you would be a boy,” Astrid blurted out, turning more and more pink with every word.

“He _is_ a boy,” Wemund guffawed.

“Not anymore, I’m afraid,” Eydis said, and the smile she gave Bard was tinged with sadness. “See, already he has a bit of beard growing in.”

“ _Mum_ ,” he said, because it looked like she might start to cry.

“It was such a pleasure to meet you both,” Astrid mumbled so quickly that it all rolled into one word. She drew her shawl up around her shoulders and lifted her chin regally, but something in her stance reminded Bard of a deer poised for flight. “I look forward to seeing you again, Mistress Eydis. And… goodbye.” All at once, her dignified façade crumbled and she disappeared in a flurry of skirts out the door.

“Well,” Wemund said after a silent pause, “it’s difficult to say which of you was more flustered, my lad. Now, off with your shirt again so I can finish measuring you.”

Huffing his indignation, Bard nevertheless pulled off his shirt and allowed the tanner to take the length of his spine. Eydis seemed lost in her own thoughts, a half smile quirking her lips. After a few moments, Wemund clapped Bard on the shoulder and put his measuring cord away.

“Just bring that buck by sometime this afternoon, will you?” he said as Bard shrugged his shirt back on. “And if you can spare the time to help me butcher it, that would speed the process along mightily. Hold on now, Astrid’s gone and left her parcel!”

“Oh?” At the mention of Astrid, Eydis perked up.

“She left in such a hurry she forgot to take it with her,” Wemund said, picking up the neatly packed bundle that he had brought in earlier. “I’ll have to take it to her later this evening, once I’ve got through skinning your two deer.”

“Surely Bard could deliver it for you instead,” Eydis said, all innocence.

“Truly?” Wemund lit up.

Bard stared at his mother in alarm. This was all too much, and much too fast. “I don’t even know where she lives,” he lied, even though he knew it was a long shot.

“It cannot be too difficult to find the newest family in town, dear,” Eydis said in that motherly tone that made him grind his teeth. “Of course, Master Wemund, Bard would be delighted to take the parcel for you. He can bring the buck here afterward.”

“Why, thank you my boy! I do dislike deliveries if I can avoid them!”

A few minutes later, Bard found himself trudging down a narrow walkway, the package tucked under his arm. His mother had suggested, with a wink, that he ask around for the new wine merchant’s home since he didn’t know the way himself. He bitterly regretted that she caught him looking at Astrid, because that was all she had needed to discern his heart. How did mothers understand their children so well?

As his thoughts turned back to Astrid, the tempo of his heartbeat scattered and then quickened in his chest. Would she smile when she answered the door? Would she blush again, or would she find the words to speak to him? Bard thought that just seeing her eyes again would be enough – for now.

He didn’t even have to look as he skirted around a rotten section of the walkway. The knowledge was in his feet; countless hours of running through the maze of the city as a child had taught him where to step and where to leap. This shortcut in particular tended to be treacherous, and his mother would have choice words for him if she knew. It came alive at night, but during the day it was quiet and dirty and the wooden paths slowly decayed in the wan sunlight.

Most of the residents in Lake-town were poorer than dirt, but there was a small quarter of much more lavish houses on the northwest end, and Astrid’s family had bought one of the finest. Bard had heard that her father once lived in Lake-town, but then had made a small fortune by trading and transporting wine. Now that he was old and fat, he had resolved to return to the home of his youth and lord his newfound wealth over his neighbors.

His surroundings began to shift into more spacious sidewalks and exquisitely carved lintels, and Bard knew with an innate sense of uneasiness that he didn’t belong among the beautifully-made houses. Even the air smelled cleaner as he stepped up the walkway that led to the entrance of her home. He wished that he’d at least had a wash since going hunting that morning, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Perhaps Astrid wouldn’t notice. Squaring his shoulders, he knocked on the door and steeled himself to actually speak words instead of mutely shoving the package into her hands, like he feared he would.

But it wasn’t Astrid who opened the door, after all.


End file.
